Forgetting Josephine
by Swansandsparrows
Summary: Michael wants to help Nikita forget Josephine. But what will Michael do when Nikita gets sent out on another seduction mission gone wrong? Set after Nikita's seduction mission under the alias of 'Josephine' when she was still trapped in Division.
1. Chapter 1: The Enemy's Ultimatum

**Forgetting Josephine**

Michael helps Nikita forget Josephine.

_Set after Nikita's seduction mission under the alias of 'Josephine', back when she was still in Division._

_Nikita:"Did you get what you wanted?"_

_Michael:"You will never have to be Josephine again."_

If she had known that her promotion to agent status and her conditional freedom came paired with a never ending string of honey trap missions, Nikita would have opted to stay trapped in Division.

No number of scalding hot showers could remove the feel of another man's unwanted touch on her skin. Her sins couldn't be washed away like dirt: they clung to her, invisible and heavy, a burden she carried with her day in and day out. She could blame Division, that was easy to do. But she felt disgusted with herself, despite having no power over the terms of her prostitution.

The Division-issued apartment she was living in felt too large. The ceilings were too high, the rooms to empty, the floor too cold.

She sat on her couch, clutching her knees to her chest, trying to keep her mind blank. But it didn't work, and the tears threatened to return again.

On the side table next to her, a black object caught her eye. Michael's jacket. She still had it.

Looking around furtively, as if even here, in her own home, she had to hide form the omniscient Division eye, her arm shot out as she grabbed the coat and wrapped it around her, inhaling deeply.

Almost instantly, the tension, the insomnia, the shame- it all melted away as she breathed in the familiar, musky smell of his cologne. Michael was a man of routine, and she could identify his favorite cologne, mixed with his freshly pressed suits and impeccable appearance. In a world of uncertainty, he provided a feeling of comfort and inherent coziness that made her feel safe- or, as safe as a paranoid assassin could ever feel.

In a few short minutes, she drifted off to sleep, Michael's coat wrapped around her, and for the first time in a few days, she fell into a deep sleep.

…

Michael almost never opposed Division. But he wasn't going to let this happen to her, not again. Not this soon.

He stood in Amanda's minimalistic office, his eyes boring into hers.

"No," he growled, his voice low, lethal.

Amanda, casually perched on the arm of her white couch, looked up from her clipboard. "Excuse me?"

"You are not sending her on another seduction mission. She just got back from a long term assignment! You can't force her out into the field again."

Amanda's cold eyes leveled with his, her head tilting imperceptibly. "Why, Michael, you're expressing a lot of concern where none is needed. Nikita is an agent now. In order to be of use to Division, she needs to be ready at a moment's notice. There's no reason for you to object to her going on another mission, because she hasn't had much time to rest in the past. Unless... you object to the kind of mission I'm sending her on?"

Michael knew he had to proceed cautiously. Every conversation he had with Amanda regarding Nikita had to be carefully calculated so his words couldn't be misconstrued. Amanda's specialty was trapping people in their own lies, and hanging them with their own words.

"You know I don't approve of Division brokering the recruits as sex workers."

"Not even when they save lives, Michael? You know that each mission we do is for the common good. The few have to sacrifice for the good of the many. Why should Nikita be an exception?"

"I'm her handler, Amanda. My job is to make sure she doesn't get burnt out. And right now, she needs a break."

Amanda's eyes narrowed. "Does she? Well, Division needs her. We've got a high profile op, and all of our previous agents have been unsuccessful in... attracting the attention of the target. We think Nikita is more his style."

Michael felt his blood run cold and had to fight to keep his face impassive.

"But you know what? You are her handler. That's why you'll be running this Op and briefing her about the specifics," Amanda said with a vicious smile, holding out a file to Michael.

In that instant, it took every shred of Michael's self control not to kill Amanda, right there. He didn't touch the file.

"What's wrong, Michael?" Amanda prodded, the corners of her lips curving up into a smirk. "She's just an agent. Isn't she?"

He had no choice. He ripped the file out of Amanda's hands, storming out of Amanda's office. Could he appeal to Percy about this? No, that would only arouse suspicion. Was there any way he could get someone else for this mission? With a sinking heart, he opened the file. The mission was going live tomorrow morning. That barely gave her enough time to prepare, let alone give him time to find a replacement.

With a feeling of dread washing over him, he headed over to Nikita's apartment.

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	2. Chapter 2: Preparing for the Lion's Den

**Forgetting Josephine**

Chapter Two: Preparing for the Lion's Den

**Your reviews make my day. You people are so wonderful. :D**

**As promised, a new chapter!**

_Previously:_

_ "But you know what? You are her handler. That's why you'll be running this Op and briefing her about the specifics," Amanda said with a vicious smile, holding out a file to Michael._

_ In that instant, it took every shred of Michael's self control not to kill Amanda, right there. He didn't touch the file._

_ "What's wrong, Michael?" Amanda prodded, the corners of her lips curving up into a smirk. "She's just an agent. Isn't she?"_

_ He had no choice. He ripped the file out of Amanda's hands, storming out of Amanda's office. Could he appeal to Percy about this? No, that would only arouse suspicion. Was there any way he could get someone else for this mission? With a sinking heart, he opened the file. The mission was going live tomorrow morning. That barely gave her enough time to prepare, let alone give him time to find a replacement._

_ With a feeling of dread washing over him, he headed over to Nikita's apartment._

… 

**Michael stood outside Nikita's apartment.** Her tracker said she was here, but she wasn't answering the door. He tried calling her one last time before using the key under the mat and letting himself in.

"Nikita?" he said, walking in to her living room. There, curled up in a ball and wrapped in his coat, was Nikita, in the deep stages of REM sleep.

Michael couldn't help but smile. She was just too damn cute when she was sleeping. She was peaceful and vulnerable, a complete contrast from the strong, feisty Nikita he knew.

Wanting her to get as much sleep as she could before she was forced out into the field again, Michael went to her kitchen to make some Earl Gray tea- her favorite.

It felt oddly intimate, being in her apartment uninvited. He'd been here before, but this time, it felt like he was looking into something much more personal. She was good at putting up defenses, but the apartment was a window into the soul of the true Nikita. There was a yoga mat and a collection of candles in the corner of the living room. Everything was neat and sparsely decorated. Deceptively straightforward and never revealing too much: just like Nikita herself.

As the tea was brewing, he felt his eyes wander to the only closed door in the apartment. Her bedroom. He glanced back at her delicate sleeping figure, and then back at the door, but he stayed in the kitchen. Somehow, the simple boundary seemed forbidden to him.

"Michael?" Nikita asked groggily from the couch, surprise coloring her voice. Her hair was messed up in a way that Michael found ridiculously attractive in a woman who never once appeared disheveled.

He poured her a glass of tea and sat next to her on the couch, handing her the teacup. She stopped clutching the jacket and a blush spread across her cheeks as she took the cup from him.

"I meant to return your jacket," she said, handing it out to him.

"Keep it. I have others," he said, a small half smile on his lips.

Nikita stared at him for a moment before draping the jacket around herself and taking a sip of her tea. She seemed bewildered. Somehow, that made her that much more endearing to him.

And then, he remembered why he had to be there, and his smile disappeared. Nikita waited patiently.

"Nikita, Amanda has assigned you a new mission," Michael said, avoiding her eyes.

"What kind of mission?" Nikita asked, dreading the answer. Her teacup shook just a little as she placed it on the side table.

Michael took a deep breath, cursing Amanda with every bone in his body. "Another seduction mission," he said quietly. He didn't look up at first, but when he finally met her large brown eyes, a tiny piece of him died. Her face had gone pale, and she looked like she had disappeared to another time, nightmares playing in her head, over and over and over.

"You can tell Amanda that I'm not going," she said, fighting to keep her voice even. "I'm not ready to become another Josephine."

The words cut deep as Michael remembered his promise. "I can't stop her."

"Can't you?"

"She already thinks-" Michael cut himself off, suddenly realizing what he was about to say.

"Thinks what?" Nikita challenged.

"Amanda has her suspicions that you and I are more involved than we ought to be," he said.

"Are we?" Nikita asked, her voice softening.

Michael looked back down at the file folder in his hands. "We should go over the specs."

"Amanda sent you to do that too?" Nikita asked, realizing that this was his punishment for speaking out.

"Yeah. The mission goes live first thing in the morning. We don't have much time to prepare."

A mischievous glint flashed in Nikita's eyes. "What kind of preparation did you have in mind?"

"Not that kind," Michael answered reflexively, but Nikita reveled in the way his eyes lingered on her. His heart beat just a bit faster, and he opened the file.

He handed a picture to Nikita of a man in his late twenties with boyish good looks and an arrogant expression. Nikita disliked him immediately.

"What's the time frame for this mission?" she asked, steeling herself for his response.

"Two months."

Nikita closed her eyes, trying to keep herself calm. She refused to fall apart in front of Michael.

"There's no other way?"

Michael shook his head. "Trust me, if there were, you wouldn't have to do this."

"It's fine," she said, trying to keep her tone casual, "it's not like I haven't whored myself out for Division before."

Her offhanded remark disturbed Michael. "Nikita," he said, his heart aching, "don't think like that."

"What, you want me to pretend that I actually _want_ to have sex with these money launderers and murderers? You want me to tell myself that I'll _enjoy_ it? If I tell myself enough lies, will you finally be able to sleep at night?"

She turned away from him, her delicate mouth quivering. She wouldn't fall apart in front of him. She wouldn't.

"Nikita," he whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't!" she said, recoiling away from him and jumping off the couch. "You're just like Amanda, expecting me to be grateful. Well you know what? I'm not. Not for this life."

"I'm not expecting you to be grateful!" Michael said. "But some things are just out of your control. You have to accept that."

Nikita shook her head. "I can't."

They stood like that in Nikita's living room, tensed for a fight. And then, Michael did something Nikita didn't expect. He picked up the file and said: "Alright. I'll tell Percy that you can't do this mission."

And he headed for the door.

_That's it?_ Nikita thought._ That wasn't so-_ wait. If Percy found out that Michael couldn't control his recruit, she would be canceled, and Michael- she didn't want to know what might happen to him. As much as these kinds of missions killed a tiny piece of her heart, she couldn't bear something happening to Michael.

"Wait," she said, grabbing Michael's arm as he walked by her, "I'll do it. Stay and brief me on the details?"

Michael nodded, following her back to the couch, reopening the file. Nikita was much stronger than he gave her credit for, but every agent had their breaking point. He just hoped this mission wouldn't be hers. No: he would do everything in his power to make sure it wouldn't be.

_He wouldn't let anyone break her._

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	3. Chapter 3: Not Her

**Forgetting Josephine**

**Chapter 3: Breaking Point**

**Oh my goodness! Your wonderful reviews are making me blush :) I'll be honest: I never expected this story to become so popular. I feel like I've been invited to the "Cool Kid's" table of Fanfiction land. **

**As a thanks, here's a new chapter!**

_Previously:_

_ Nikita was much stronger than he gave her credit for, but every agent had their breaking point. He just hoped this mission wouldn't be hers. No: he would do everything in his power to make sure it wouldn't be._

_ He wouldn't let anyone break her._

**Nikita and Michael were sitting in the back of a surveillance van outside of the Embassy.** Maybe it was just Nikita's wishful thinking, but Michael appeared to be dividing more attention then necessary to running a sound check with their short-range comm units. He wouldn't admit it, but the dress she had been assigned to wear- an eye-catching silver number that was tighter than saran wrap and dangerously short- was incredibly distracting. He knew it would serve its purpose- and that alone made his blood boil.

"This first encounter is the most important," he said, handing her an earbud. "Prince Tristen will be leaving the U.S. tomorrow to go back to his country, and you need to get him to bring you with him. None of the other agents have been able to get into his palace, and you're our last chance to find evidence linking him to the notorious drug trafficking circle we're sure he's involved in."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. And we can't assassinate him because there's a chance he's innocent, and that would scare off the real man behind the curtain. Anything else?"

"If something goes wrong, I'll be in the lobby with the other guests."

Nikita stared at him. "You're coming into the Embassy party, too?"

"I'm not wearing this tux for fun," Michael reminded her.

Nikita smiled. Despite the nature of this mission, she kind of liked having him there. Her very own safety net.

"And we're sure that he'll want to bring me back with him after this?"

"Not completely. But if you stick to everything we talked about last night, it could work. Ready?"

"One last question. What happened to those other agents Division has assigned to seduce Prince Tristen over the past couple of years?"

"He found out they were spies and killed them," Michael replied.

Nikita's eyes grew wide, and she took a steadying breath. _No pressure._

…_  
><em>

The cocktail party was not the sophisticated shindig people would expect a government assemblage to be. The bustling open bar, the medley of low-cut dresses that were not much more than sparkly pieces of fabric, and the lowered lights all contributed to the gritty nightclub feel juxtaposed against the few foreign dignitaries' pressed uniforms. This event was not planned to ever appear in the public eye.

Nikita's skin crawled as she caught sight of her target, Prince Tristen of Wales, slouching against the bar with a shot of Vodka in hand, eying the fare of women like a tiger stalking his prey.

But she didn't hesitate, not for a moment. She was in mission mode, and she stuffed her trepidation and disgust into a tiny place in the back of her mind, where they would haunt her afterward, in the usual form of nightmares and flashbacks.

Tristen's eyes were glued to her the minute he caught sight of her. She slipped next to him by the bar, and ordered a martini, never meeting his gaze, shyly turning her head away from him.

He liked the innocent ones, the file had said, the ones with quiet dignity, with a veiled sexual appetite. The ones he could corrupt. The ones willing to be corrupted.

The bar tender returned with Nikita's drink, and Tristen held out a folded bill. "This one's on me."

Nikita looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. The carnal _hunger_ she saw in them made her heart race, dread weighing her down. She wasn't allowed to have her gun with her on these types of mission for the sake of preserving her cover, but she knew that it would also be too big of a temptation to take him down in moments like these.

"So," he said, running his fingertips across her bare arm, "where is your date? Surely such a beautiful woman such as yourself didn't come here by yourself."

She took a sip of her drink, an alluring smile gracing her lips. "You're too kind. I'm here alone."

He reached out and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, his hand lightly traveling down her neck and brushing across her collarbone. He leaned in close, the breath from his mouth tickling her ear: "I like an independent woman."

"I like a man who takes control," she whispered back, squeezing his arm. He choked on his drink, setting it down and turning back to her.

"You know, there's a room upstairs where we can finish this conversation," Tristen said, his eyes raking over the lines of her body in a way that made her want to throw up.

Michael watched Nikita pull Tristen in for an open-mouthed, erotic kiss, and at that point in time he was seconds away from pulling out his gun and killing the man right then and there.

"I'd like that," Nikita replied, and Tristen lead her toward the partially hidden back staircase.

"Nikita's engaged the target," Michael said, trying to keep his voice even and indifferent, "radio silence until further notice."

"Copy that, long-range communication is going offline. Give us a call with an update," Birkhoff said.

"Will do," Michael responded, and with a _click_, Division stopped monitoring the audio. Michael heard the sound of a door opening and then slamming shut, and the sound of heavy breathing and passionate kisses. He reached up and turns off the ear bud, desperately wanting to get a scotch just so he can't _think_. This is torture, having to be here. Amanda knew it would be.

But something across the room catches his eye: a figure, darting towards the hidden staircase where Nikita and Tristen had just walked up. Holding a _gun_.

And Michael is experienced to know that this is never a good sign. He immediately takes off, sprinting across the room, pushing through the throng of people.

But he's not fast enough. There's too many people; the staircase was too far away.

Two gunshots ring out, throwing the Embassy into perfect pandemonium.

Michael turned his comm back on. "Nikita? _Nikita_!"

No reply. The guests were being ushered towards the exits, but all Michael could do was stand there, frozen. Did Tristen find out who she was a spy? Did he call someone in to kill her, just like he had slaughtered the others?

Two words kept repeating in his head.

_Not her. Not her._


	4. Chapter 4: Suspicions

Forgetting Josephine

Chapter 4: Suspicions

_Previously:_

_ But something across the room catches his eye: a figure, darting towards the hidden staircase where Nikita and Tristen had just walked up. Holding a gun._

_ And Michael is experienced to know that this is never a good sign. He immediately takes off, sprinting across the room, pushing through the throng of people._

_ But he's not fast enough. There's too many people; the staircase was too far away._

_ Two gunshots ring out, throwing the Embassy into perfect pandemonium._

_ Michael turned his comm back on. "Nikita? Nikita!"_

_ No reply. The guests were being ushered towards the exits, but all Michael could do was stand there, frozen. Did Tristen find out who she was a spy? Did he call someone in to kill her, just like he had slaughtered the others?_

_ Two words kept repeating in his head._

_ Not her. Not her._

Tristen had led her up the stairs to a small, luxurious sitting room, slamming the door and shoving her up against it with a force that knocked her breath right out of her. She fought the urge to take him down, to overpower him, to _kill_ this man whose hands were inching under the hem of her dress and lips were smothering hers. She pushed him, hard, shoving him in the direction of the antique couch, trying to put space between them, trying to regain some sort of control. But he dragged her with him onto the couch, tangling and falling, banging her limbs on the metal arm of the furniture.

She would have bruises tomorrow that she'd have to cover up. Just more pain she'd have to keep hidden from the world. From Michael.

The thought of him made her eyes sting. This _animal_ had her pinned on a couch, hands roaming, pulling at her clothes. Here, in a sitting room where just anyone could walk on in. Yet her thoughts still drifted the man she wasn't allowed to have such thoughts about.

Suddenly, the door flew open with a _bang_. A giant Russian, blonde haired man with a gun and a crazed expression on his face.

He raised his weapon and fired.

Nikita rolled to the floor, a bullet flying by her head as the man shot at them. With a swift kick, she swept his feet out from under him and he fell to the ground with a thump. Her eyes grew wide. She recognized this man.

He worked for Ari Tasserov. For Gogol, an entity she had heard of from inside the walls of her briefings in Division, but had been on enough missions to recognize their presence, their best hit men. They were Russian _Division_.

They weren't after her. That meant they were trying to take out Tristen. She looked back at the stunned man, his clothes askew, the shock still fresh on his face. _What did you do that Gogol would send one of their best to take you out?_ She wondered.

He looked up at her. "How did you do that?" he demanded.

_Dammit_. How could she explain this? Her target knows that there are spies after him. He's killed them before. Who's to stop him from killing her?

Suddenly, she was aware of a shadow just outside of the doorway, just out of Tristen's line of sight, and a wave of comfort swept over her. _Michael_.

"Tell him you were sent to protect him by his intelligence service," Michael's rough voice whispered in her ear over the comm.

She turned to Tristen, aware of the way his hand was poised over his cell phone, suspicion written all over his face.

"We knew you'd be targeted tonight, Tristen. I was sent to protect you from any threats."

"By whom?"

"Your intelligence service, of course. I'm a private contractor."

"A spy?" his tone was still accusatory.

She smiled a little, trying to diffuse the tension. If he snapped, this room would be flooded with his security, and there would be no hope for her. Division would leave her behind. Even Michael wouldn't be able to save her.

"No. I don't gather intelligence. I just do as I'm told."

"And were you told to sleep with me?"

She forced a laugh that sounded surprisingly natural, and she sauntered over to him, her fingertips brushing over his arm as she leaned up to whisper in his ear. "That was not part of the plan, no. But if you want to continue this..."

"Not here," he said suddenly. "Whoever is after me could strike again." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Come back with me. To Wales."

She looked up at him, trying to ascertain whether his suspicions still lingered. For all she knew, he could turn and kill her any moment. But if Gogol was involved, surely this ran deeper than she knew. This man, this abhorrent villain, deserved to be brought to justice. She could do that. She could take down whatever circle of crime he was running. Even if it meant prolonging this mission. Even if it meant more bruises and nightmares. This was her chance to do something _good_.

Michael's voice rumbled over her comm again. "Nikita, he might suspect-"

"I'd love to."

"Good. The jet takes off in an hour. You don't need to bring anything. We're leaving right now."

Tristen took her hand and pulled her out of the room. Michael had disappeared from the hallway.

For a fleeting moment, she felt the danger and risk of what she was walking into with a lucidity that frightened her. She was willingly entering the lion's den, and her life depended on how well she could sell her side of the act. How well she could read him.

One mistake and she'd be dead.

…

"We have to plan an exfil," Michael said, standing in Percy's office. He kept his arms crossed and his expression stoic, but his voice betrayed him, harsh and urgent. He wasn't fooling Percy or Amanda. "It's too dangerous for her. He's on to her, I know it. Once he finds out that his intelligence service didn't hire someone to protect him-"

"Then Nikita will problem solve. You don't give her enough credit, you know," said Percy, his eyes narrowing. "She's been in precarious situations before. Certainly with higher stakes. Why is this different?"

Percy's statement was a challenge. A challenge with consequences if he answered incorrectly.

"All I'm saying is that the mission has been jeopardized. He suspects her, so any recovered intel is invalid."

"We don't know that," said Amanda. "Nikita can be very... convincing."

Michael flinched inwardly at the thought.

"Since you're so worried, how about you oversee the mission and set up on location tactical surveillance?" Percy suggested. "She was your recruit, after all, and some backup may be necessary if what you say is true."

This suggestion wasn't innocent. Was this another one of Percy's tests? He had to tread carefully. He had to appear indifferent.

"Fine," Michael said. "I'll get Birkhoff to book me a flight for tonight."

Amanda watched Michael leave, and turned to Percy.

"Do you think he knows?"

"Not a chance," said Percy, leaning back in his chair with a smug expression. "We're in for quite a show."

A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews! I will be updating more frequently again. Expect more chapters soon! (As in tomorrow, probably)


	5. Chapter 5: Not An Easy Couple to Cancel

Forgetting Josephine

Chapter 5: Not An Easy Couple to Cancel

_Previously:_

_ Amanda watched Michael leave, and turned to Percy._

_ "Do you think he knows?"_

_ "Not a chance," said Percy, leaning back in his chair with a smug expression. "We're in for quite a show."_

Nikita couldn't read her target. In the private jet, he spent most of the time on the phone, talking to his security adviser about who was hunting him. The Gogol agent hadn't cracked in interrogation yet, hadn't told them his affiliations or motivations for targeting Tristen. Nikita listened carefully, tensed to fight to the death when he discovered that she hadn't been sent by his security to protect him.

"What about the woman you sent?"

Nikita reached towards the knife in her boot under the guise of shifting in her seat next to him. She was by the window. Cornered. She'd have to take him by surprise, and then somehow disable the other guards and people in the cabin. She peeked through the crack in between her and Tristen's seats and did a once-over of the bodyguards who sat behind her. Just as she'd thought: armed to the teeth, and big.

_I'm not going to make it out of this,_ she thought, the cabin suddenly feeling like it was pressing down her her from all sides.

He put a hand over the speaker of the phone. "What did you say your name was again?"

Should she give a fake name? What did it matter, anyways, when she'd have to kill this man in a moment's time, anyways?

"Nikita," she said, with what she hoped would be a disarming smile. Her knife is already halfway out of her boot when he turned to her and said:

"You checked out."

She nearly stabbed herself in the leg out of surprise.

"Of course I did," she said, recovering. She slipped the knife – carefully – back into her boot. She could feel Tristen's eyes on her, hungry and savage. Now that she wasn't a threat to his life anymore, his lust was back. Nikita felt sick.

…

Michael set up shop in a surveillance van across the street from Prince Tristen's vast estate. Birkhoff has already hacked into the external security cameras, but Michael will need Nikita to help plant bugs on the inside in order to uncover the extent of the illegal activities going on.

A few afters after she arrived at the estate in the motorcade of vehicles, she knocked on the window of the white van. He opened the door, and she climbed into the back of the van, where state of the art surveillance equipment and monitors lined the walls, and two swivel chairs were bolted to the floor. She took a seat across from Michael.

"So, they gave you the honor of coordinating this leg of the mission, too?"

_In a way, I think I'll always charge myself with taking care of you_, he thought to himself. This realization shocked him, and Nikita detected the slightest waver in his professional demeanor as he gently slipped a delicate bracelet onto her wrist.

"Audio/visual bug. Each crystal pops out separately. Try and place two in each room where Tristen might be conducting his business meetings."

Nikita's sleeve of her lacy jacket had slipped down, revealing a dark bruise on her arm. Michael's eyes went wide in alarm, and Nikita quickly covered it with the sleeve.

"Nikita," he whispered, suddenly aware of how the long dress and jacket covered _everything_, even in the warm summer weather. The way the mischievous sparkle in her eyes had dulled, replaced by a simmering rage.

When this was over, Tristen would die: whether it be by Michael's hand or Nikita's.

"So I guess it's too late for me to tap out?" she asked, her voice light, but her fear real.

"Amanda and Percy suspect-"

"What do they suspect, Michael?" she asked, suddenly, looking up at him.

"That we care for each other too much," he said, his voice low and rough like sandpaper.

"Do we?"

He reached his hand out, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "Yes," he whispered.

Nikita liked the way he looked at her. His eyes were warm, full of love and affection. He was in awe of her, and that came through in his eyes, his touch.

She stood up, and pulled him with her. She reached up, placing her hands on either side of his face. She reached up, and he instinctively pulled her into a searing kiss, their lips moving together in a complicated dance, his hands puller her closer, closer. Running through her hair, ghosting over the form of her petite frame.

Suddenly, he pulled away.

"Michael," she said, fearing he was withdrawing from her again, pulling away when she needed him most.

"Your mark can't suspect anything. This is a dangerous mission, you have to be careful," he said, but his hands still held hers, their bodies inches away, electric energy pulling at them to lessen the gap.

"And us?"

"We'll continue this conversation the next time you can safely get away," he said, and her heart leaped. She was practically glowing with happiness as she stepped out of the van, and he permitted a smile to cross his serious face as he thought of her.

What both of them had failed to see, however, was the tiny green light in the top right corner of the van.

A hidden security camera, streaming live to Division, Percy's office.

And he was watching.

…

"You were right," Percy said, leaning back in his chair. "They're in love."

"Shall I send a Division cleaner on it? Maybe Owen?" Amanda asked, her catlike eyes glinting.

Percy watched the surveillance feed. "These agents aren't easy to cancel. I've got a better plan."

_A/N: Technically, I fulfilled my update promise and updated this before midnight! Next chapter will be out soon. In the meantime, have a cookie! (Or better yet, a glass of Eggnog!)_


	6. Chapter 6:  An Unwelcome Visitor

Forgetting Josephine

Chapter 6: An Unwelcome Visitor

_Previously:_

_ "You were right," Percy said, leaning back in his chair. "They're in love."_

_ "Shall I send a Division cleaner on it? Maybe Owen?" Amanda asked, her catlike eyes glinting._

_ Percy watched the surveillance feed. "These agents aren't easy to cancel. I've got a better plan."_

…

It was 6AM when Michael got the call from Division regarding Nikita's seduction mission. He hadn't slept, not really, not after the kiss (or more aptly, make-out session) him and Nikita had shared the previous day. He had spent his energy controlling the rage that boiled within him, knowing that her target was hurting her. So this morning was a special kind of hell.

And then the phone call.

"Hello?" Michael said, rubbing the fatigue out of his eyes and refocusing on the monitors. Had Nikita planted the bugs yet? Because they were all offline from where he was.

"The bugs are a no-go, Mikey," Birkhoff said. "They're planted, but Prince Tristen got a hell of a system in that fortress. Anti-bug radar and the works."

"What does this mean for Nikit- the mission?"

"It means you're gonna have to join Nikki on the inside."

…

Tristen's estate made Trump Tower look like a roadside Motel 6. Nikita had been in and around her share of luxurious mansions, but this one was especially expansive: an expansive garden with towering hedges and sparkling fountains, colored Koi swimming in ponds below skylights in the dining room, a rustic library, and her personal prison: a bedroom on the third floor with a balcony that stretched out into the horizon and a round bed peeking out from behind sheer curtains.

The beauty of the house made the entire mission that much uglier.

She was perched on the balcony railing, the furthest point she could get away from the bed itself, where her target was snoring. Her feet swung freely. Straight down was a three story drop.

Nikita was an expert for a reason: she could conduct herself within that room in a way that was coy, wild, and alluring. She could capture and keep the interest of men like Tristen – powerful, insatiable men. She could manipulate through charm, through sex, through desire. But the moment she was away from prying eyes, the moment she could return to the frightened girl she was on the inside, was the moment she broke down. How could she love herself after missions like these? After men like him had their way with her?

Her body swayed, and she felt herself tip forward just a little. Not enough for her to topple over the side, but far enough to know she could.

She heard a noise behind her, and her eyes snapped open. She twirled around and landed onto the patio as Tristen closed the sliding glass door behind him.

"Nikita, what are you doing?" He shielded his eyes from the sun.

Her mind went into panic mode. If she thought she was trying to escape – even for an instant – she would be made. If he suspected anything, if any sort of behavior gave him reason to doubt, she was dead. So she used the only distraction she knew she could pull off.

"Coming back to bed," she said, stepping closer to him, swinging her hips and brushing her fingertips over his bare chest. He captured her lips in an openmouthed kiss, rough and demanding.

She kissed him and wished for Michael.

…

Nikita couldn't run after sex like she wanted. She couldn't hide or be evasive. She couldn't grab for her clothes and cover herself. Tristen ran his fingers over her body, drinking her in. She wanted to slam his head against the ornate bed frame, and toss him over the side of the balcony. The thought pleased her, and she took heart. Maybe Division would let her kill him after all.

"If we stay here all day, they're going to replace you, Mr. Prince of Wales," she teased, hoping it didn't sound forced or pointed.

"Not if you're my reason to stay."

He rolled on top of her, kissing her collarbone, just as there was a loud knock at the door.

"Who is it?" He bellowed.

"Security."

Tristen sighed, rolling off of her. She sat up, reaching for the sheets, but they were crumpled at the foot of the bed and Tristen didn't seem to care about whether or not his guards saw her naked or not. He continued to pepper kisses up her arm, her neck, holding her back from heading over to the sheets, or her clothes.

Two guards came in, their eyes drifting over to her before glancing toward Tristen. Nikita kept her head down, not meeting their eyes.

"What is it?" He asked, his lips never leaving Nikita's skin.

"This is Michael. He's a new addition to the on-site security team."

Nikita's heart stopped, and it took all her strength not to react. Her eyes slowly – oh so slowly – peered up at the second guard, who stared off into space, trying to contain his jealousy, his burning fury.

It was Michael. Her Michael.

_A/N: Your reviews made this chapter possible. Thank you for all of your support! I'm writing the next chapter as we speak :)_


	7. Chapter 7: Everything Went to Hell

Forgetting Josephine

Chapter 7:

_Previously:_

_ "This is Michael. He's a new addition to the on-site security team."_

_ Nikita's heart stopped, and it took all her strength not to react. Her eyes slowly – oh so slowly – peered up at the second guard, who stared off into space, trying to contain his jealousy, his burning fury. _

_ It was Michael. Her Michael._

…

**"Fly another agent out here. Replace me."**

"No can do, Mikey." Birkhoff responded on the other end of the phone. "Tristen's meeting with his superiors at tonight's party. Division can't get out another agent before tonight."

Michael took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He had gotten out of the estate so he wouldn't kill anybody off-limits. Like, for instance, the target Division was trying to in order to take down the Russian drug trafficking ring. But even within the surveillance van, he couldn't stop his trigger finger from twitching, thinking about what he would do to Tristen...

"Besides," Birkhoff added, "Percy wants you on this mission."

Michael's heart caught in his throat, and he stopped cold. "Percy?"

"Yeah. So no disappointing the boss man! Get back in there and prepare for tonight."

…

Nikita was an expert at old-style reconnaissance, and as the caterers and party planners distracted the household with the preparations, she was able to slip into the study, where Tristen conducted his business.

The room was styled like all the others: grand and scholarly, with hefty oak furnishings. And at the desk sat the most beautiful object she'd seen all day: a laptop. Probably packed with names of associates, banking accounts, and enough intel for them to take down the entire trafficking ring.

She couldn't call Birkhoff for fear of her call being intercepted, but she had learned enough from him that she was able to bypass most security systems that came her way.

"Amateur hour," she murmured as the screen prompted her for a password. Keystrokes, backdoor hacks- and she was in.

She clicked on a file and hundreds of photos of Russian girls, sold into the sex trade, appeared on the screen. The files made her skin crawl. These girls were children, and her heart went out to all of them. Their names and photos burned into her mind: Nina. Laura. Alexandra. Innocent ones she hoped she would someday be able to protect.

Suddenly, the study door opened.

Nikita jumped to her feet, prepared to run-

Only to see Michael, quietly close the door behind him.

"Michael?"

"Log out, he's on his way."

She pressed a few buttons, and Michael ushered her out of the room, a hand on the small of her back, guiding her down a hallway and out the nearest door to the garden.

She wouldn't meet his gaze as they walked through the maze. He picked up on this, and his tone softened.

"Are you doing alright?"

She finally looked up, seeing compassion reflected there, in his deep blue eyes. She didn't answer at first, and she was touched by this gesture from a man usually so reserved.

"I will be," she said, and it was only partly a lie.

"I need you to be," he said.

"I didn't think you needed anyone, Michael," she teased.

"Good thing you're not just anyone." His fingers brushed hers, and he took her hand in his, fumbling a little, as if he was out of practice or worried about whether or not she would pull away.

She did, but only to place his arm around her so she could be closer in his embrace.

"Did Birkhoff call? Is it almost over?"

"After tonight, we confirm and take out all the targets at the party, and you're done. And next time? The hell with Amanda. They can find someone else to do these missions."

She closed her eyes, leaning her head against Michael's shoulder. "Thank you."

…

Everyone was drunk. _Everyone_. Including the bartenders and the caterers, who only proved that doing their job well required sobriety.

Well, everyone except for Nikita and Michael, sober sore thumbs at this raucous garden party.

"Everything ready?" Nikita whispered as he passed. He nodded, intense and focused as ever. God he looked good in a suit, she thought, and couldn't help stealing a glance.

A glance he noticed, and acknowledged with a smirk. "You're not so bad yourself," he growled into her ear before slipping into the shadows, getting into place for their plan. She couldn't help but smile, and stood a little taller in the shimmering little white Grecian number she wore.

Tristen, who was slightly less hammered than everyone else at his party, was waiting by a fountain at the far end of the lawn, just by the entrance to the hedge maze. Two more men greeted him, and they disappeared within the dark garden together. The meeting, just as Michael and her had suspected. Now all was left was a two man ambush, and she'd be free and clear, with the deaths of the heads of the trafficking ring under her belt. Everything could be wrapped up, neat and tight, and she could rest soundly knowing that at least this mission was one that actually did good for the world.

Nikita opened a forgotten silver tray hidden behind a stack of dishes, snatching the shiny HK handgun Michael hid for her. She kicked off her silver heels and darted down a dark row of hedges, and saw a figure strobing through the shadows parallel to her as the looming walls of the garden swallowed her up. Her silent guardian. Her Michael.

She darted down another row, following the route Michael and her had planned out yesterday, the safety off on her gun, her finger poised on the trigger-

She turned the corner.

And that's when everything went to hell.

_A/N: Once again, thank you everyone! Your reviews make my day :)_


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